Anger
by ElephantKhaleesi
Summary: Russia has always had one thing that has never lied to him, never changed, never left. Anger. When Britain adopts a tiny, nameless, yet to be nation why does everything change? Including his Anger. Rated for later chapters. Yaoi. Ye Be Warned.
1. Chapter 1

Warning: There is some violence in this and a small child cries… Cutely, but still cries. The rating is going to be for future chapters.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, like seriously if I owned Hetalia and it's characters… Just think about that for a while, good and hard, what

would happen if **I **owned Hetalia and it's characters? Yeah I went there too, so nope don't own anything.

I'm sorry if this is Out Of Character any, i tried.

I know I still have a story uncompleted that I should finish before I start another story but I couldn't help myself! I hope you enjoy this, I really want this to be a multi-chap but I think I should ask you guys first. PLEASE LET IT BE A MULTI-CHAP! Enjoy?

I feel like I'm forgetting something?

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><p><em><strong>000<strong>_

Anger.

It was a feeling Ivan was most familiar with, most comfortable with.

He brought his fist up and slammed it down, splintering the heavy oak table. He didn't need his pipe this time. An, out of place, pink flower pot was thrown across the room, hitting the wall and splitting into thousands of thick glass shards. His tirade continued, breaking everything and anything he could get his hands on. Broken glass covered the floor like a veil of snow, a bookcase had been thrown onto the ground; the tile shattering and causing spider web patterns to jerk out from under its mahogany wood, there were holes in the walls, all the windows had been destroyed by one thing or another, the gilded chandelier hanging over the dining table had been ripped down; the table collapsing because of the pressure. This was why he couldn't have nice things. The wreckage continued into other rooms and unto other floors of his large mansion.

It lasted for hours.

By the time he had finished his rampage, his breathing had become labored and the calm, cold devastation that Russia was renowned for could be clearly seen from any point in the house. He walked with slow deliberation towards the circular stairwell, the marble still beautiful even with its many newly added cracks and scuffs. As soon as the large doors opened (As all the doors in Russia's domain were large. Who knows why.), the quiet sobbing reached his ears. It was one of the many things he loved about the ominous stairwell; it was a fucking echo chamber.

Almost everything going on in the house could be heard on the staircase and its landing, well almost. Ivan had made sure his personal bedroom could not be heard from anywhere, not even if you were standing right outside the doors. A slight frown fitted itself upon his face in place of his usual eerie smile. As he descended the empty stairs, the sobs grew louder, his boots made loud taps upon the marble. Russia grimaced slightly as a gruesome crunch resonated from under his boot as he crushed broken glass into the wood floor of the first level. Ivan crossed the threshold quickly, the crunches not subsiding until he himself stopped.

He looked down at the figure curled up and sobbing below him. He sighed deeply; this had not been what he wanted. He crouched down, but didn't speak, for he did not know what to say. He knew though, what the miserable creature _wanted_ him to say.

"I'm sorry." He made them as heartfelt and meaningful as he could make them, but Russia's acting skills were only so extensive. He should have watched more soap operas; they would have come in handy at this moment.

The figure lurched upwards, anger and hurt plastered all over his face, he lifted his arms up and attempted to shove Russia away, but it was just an attempt for Ivan caught the lithe arms easily.

"Do not say things you don't mean!" More tears emerged from puffy eyes and rolled down red cheeks. He was so cute when he cried; it was one of Russia's favorite expressions.

"Well than, what do you want me to say?" This time he spoke with a deep calm and true inquiry. He tilted his head slightly to the side.

"Hmmm? Well? Are you going to answer or act like a child further?" The boy's head bolted up, his features scrunching up into an "angry face" but was in actuality a pout.

"I AM **NOT** A CHILD!" He declared stubbornly. Something swelled inside of Ivan, it was a strange bubbly feeling and before he could identify it or stop it, a low chuckle emitted from his smirking mouth. He blinked, the sensation had been new to him, he recognized it as laughter but it was unlike anything the Nation had ever experienced before.

He had felt an emotion that had dissolved his Anger. For the brief moment that the sound had escaped his lips, he had forgotten his Anger. A foreign and unknown feeling had awakened in his heart. And for once Ivan was not the calm and knowledgeable older Nation, he was as new and naive as the child (for that was truly what he was) in front of him. He did not know how to deal with this newfound emotion and he was not comfortable with it, not like his Anger. He knew Anger inside and out; there was nothing that his Anger could do that he didn't know already. Russia did not like change.

He released the small boy's hands and instead lifted him into his arms.

"Britain will want you back by tomorrow's tea." The boy looped his arms around Russia's neck before mumbling sleepily:

"I know…" He snuggled his face into Ivan's chest, which was surprisingly comfy. All and all Russia was a pretty mushy guy. (**A/N:** Nobody tell him.)

"You know I think I may have to make you cry more often, if this is how quickly you will go to sleep for me." The murmur was unheard by the small nation that had drifted to sleep the second he had been wrapped in Ivan's rather warm arms. (**A/N:**Nobody tell him that either.) Russia tip-toed back up the stairs, careful not to wake the sleeping beauty he was holding. Two corridors spanned on either side of the landing, but he turned right. It didn't take long before he was twisting the doorknob and entering a room. Correction, _his_ room. It was perhaps the most conspicuous looking room in the whole manor. It was located directly at the end of the hallway with large glossy mahogany doors and arcane columns looming over Russia and the small little one as if threatening to swallow them whole. To the foolish wandering guest the spectacle would be enough to make them turn tail and, on extreme cases, shit themselves.

The right door swung open, it's ornate gilded doorknob cool to the touch, even through Russia's gloves. He carefully let the door click shut, ensuring the child's slumber continue uninterrupted. A large, mesmerizing four poster bed stood directly in front of Ivan. He approached the magnificent bed and gently laid his sleeping beauty down before climbing up himself. He pulled the thick bed covers up and over them, allowing the warmth of the smaller body to heat up his naturally cold self. He pushed the thought of his clothes to the back of his mind and drifted to sleep. But not before snuggling his face into the nameless, yet to be nation. Something that he would undoubtedly deny to himself in the morning.

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><p><em><strong>000<strong>_

Please review, it would make me really happy. In fact it might even make my day… Who am I kidding? It would make me so happy, I would be _that _much closer to uploading another chapter. Which is entirely up to you, I could just keep it this way, but don't you want to indulge yourself in the oh so wonderful world of Hetalia? I have lots of plot bunnies running wild, so unless you want cyber rabbit stew, you should review!(RHYME!) I know that when people review to MY stories I tend to act like someone shot me full of opium and I start to giggle, but that could just be me… XD Tell me what you think of this, whether it was good, bad, or just plain ugly.

Was it just me or was the tiny, nameless, not-quite-yet-there nation (I realy hope you know who that is, cause its not that difficult to figure out. So if you don't know than you're stupid, sorry, but you are. It's America, before he was America.) just a tad bit bipolar towards the end?

~o.o~

I still feel like I'm forgetting something.


	2. Chapter 2

Cutest thing to report about this story? That the top Countries to visit it are the United States and the Russian Federation. ^^ I hope it doesn't seem too dorky that I have a huge shit eating grin on my face right now. XD

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own any of the Hetalia characters nor Hetalia itself, they belong to their respectful owners. I do not own Russia or America… Russia owns America, and America owns a pair of glasses… Someone should get him a dog.

**WARNINGS:** I don't think anything too bad happens in this chapter, in my AC fic I do a lot of different languages but I don't want to butcher Russian with Google translate so I'm probably going to stick with English. Don't know why I put that in the WARNING section but let's just go with the flow. Some swearing, maybe a bit of violence, and shounen ai.

**NOTE:** This is a yaoi fanfiction. BL, slash, shounen ai, gay, or whatever other label you want to plaster on it. If this is not your thing don't read it. It's an incredibly simple concept. So please do not write an immature review.

**A/N:** I LOVE ALL OF YOU! I got a bunch of reviews for this! It made me really happy to know that you liked it! I am really bad at uploading stories regularly and I can be really stupid and not upload for a really long time so I'm apologizing ahead of time.

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><p><em><strong>000<strong>_

Pale sun streamed easily through the translucent red curtains, a shard piercing Russia's closed eyes. Bright, painful orange assaulted the inside of his eyelids, fluttering open at the irritating sensation. Squinting past the sun, his violet orbs rested on the small blonde haired boy, whose chest was rising and falling in rhythm with his own. Unnaturally long, black lashes that would have looked fake on most women adorned the sleeping child's closed eyes, which hid the most striking blue Ivan had seen in his many years. His cupid's bow lips were upturned slightly at the edges hinting at his dream which was most likely filled with bunnies or unicorns though the child would never admit that when he woke up. Not to himself or his reluctant babysitter.

Similar to the way Russia would not admit to snuggling in with the boy last night, or how he was staring at the sleeping child, that could still be considered a toddler to some, at the current moment. He tried to slowly and quietly slide off the bed, it took a great and momentous amount of effort to get the child asleep on normal days and he always tried immensely to never wake him before he awoke naturally. Because on a good day that was at least a few hours of freedom.

He took another glance at the boy, a slight twinge of regret washing over him as he recalled yesterday's happenings. Disappointing new had been delivered to Russia, rather unexpectedly. He had become _angry _when he realized he could not quickly attend the matters at hand, but instead had to watch over Britain's newly adopted creature. He had been watching over the boy since before he could walk and soon realized that no matter how innocent and innoculous he seemed, he was suprisingly devilish and had very rapidly become known for his guile.

Either way, he had fightened the boy deeply and made him feel at fault for his _anger, _a reckless and carless thing that he should not have done. But it wore the child out enough to put him to bed with suprising ease. A first in the history of countless hours attempting to get the boy into a bed and asleep. he even made Ivan read bedtime stories... Ivan Braginski did not read bedtime stories, at least he didn't used to. He had been reduced to many things that would ruin his reputation if they ever got out to any of the other nations. Other things that will not be mentioned at this time.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed as carefully as he could manage. His boots made loud taps on the wood floor, making him flinch, then proceed to curse at himself for not undressing properly before retiring to bed. He slowly turned around hoping that he had not roused the child by accident. But even before he had fully turned around the soft voice reached his ears and he closed his eyes in exasperation.

"Ivan?" He slowly opened his eyes and took in the sight of big impossibly blue eyes.

"Yes?" His reply was even, surprisingly.

His arms reached above his head, a determined look set unto his face.

"Up."

A sigh escaped the man's mouth. "Haven't you grown out of that yet?"

"No. Up." Another sigh, he leaned down and lifted the child into his arms. A wide smile grew across the boy's face and he bent forward to give a kiss on Russia's cheek.

Loud sharp knocks echoed throughout the manor, instantly drawing the attention of the odd pair.

"Alfred."

"Britty!"

They had said in unison, slightly creeping Russia out.

He descended the stairs quickly, crossing the threshold of his enormous mansion as swiftly as he could. By the time he had arrived in the foyer, the knocks were constant in an attempt to catch someone's attention. Balancing the child in one hand, he used the other to open the ridiculously large door. There standing with bright blonde hair and eyebrows that took up half his forehead was Arthur Kirkland. Wearing a seriously frilly shirt.

"I'm surprised, you usually send over a messenger. But today you've come yourself… Yippee." Ivan couldn't be bothered to put on his eerie smile and creepy friendliness so early in the morning. But that's alright, because neither could Arthur.

"I'll be taking Alfred back. Now." The demanding tone of his voice sent alarms going off in Russia's head. And eyebrow shot up, hiding behind his bangs.

"What is the need for the haste?" Genuinely curious now, Ivan shifted the much confused Alfred in his arms.

"I heard about your "little" tantrum yesterday."

"And?"

"And I wouldn't have cared except for the fact that I left Alfred in you care." He reached out and yanked a surprised Alfred from Russia's arms.

"Britty!~" The child's slightly sleepy, yet confused voice turned heads. Specifically Russia's and Britain's. Arthur sighed, before looking back up at Ivan.

"You know I need someone to watch over him when I work, and I sure as hell can't expect France to hand him back to me in one piece, and I'd rather not let his mind absorb Spain's influence like a sponge. I trust that you can keep him safe, while you watch him." Russia's eyebrow went back down in to its normal position.

"He isn't hurt."

"No, he isn't."

With that Britain turned on his heel, walking away with the still very perplexed Alfred. The door to his carriage was opened by his coachman, and the two entered. The door shut, obscuring Alfred's cherub like face from view.

"Tight ass." Russia muttered under his breath lowly, before turning and re-entering his manor. He went about his business promptly, but not before stealing a glance at the departing carriage.

_**000**_

_**Time Skip**_

Alfred F. Jones has many unfortunate personality qualities. One of them that he had developed over the course of his short years was impatience. But it could be argued that this trait was at the fault of his "parent", Arthur Kirkland who was particularly known in most societal circles to be quick with the use of the term, "BLOODY HELL!" But that's another fanfic in a different category. And for Alfred F. Jones, sitting through a lesson about the world's money problems wasn't really his cup of tea, he wanted the lecture to be over and done with, but he knew that it was just wistful thinking. He knew the lectures lasted hours and hours on end, and there would be no reprieve anytime soon. The boring lesson on economics continued, but he paid no heed to it. Instead Alfred's attention focused on the small blue jay that flitted about lightheartedly, completely oblivious to the teenaged boy sitting in a locked room forced to listen to yet another lesson on how to be a nation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even gotten to do something for himself, something that he wanted.

The blue jay fluttered to another branch, however it chose unwisely for as soon as it landed the branch snapped. The bird plummeted to the ground noiselessly, too disoriented to use its wings. The bones snapped and cracked as it slammed into the ground, and it took less than a second or two before the guard dogs were ripping the small creature into a multitude of parts.

The boy couldn't help but shiver, it felt as if the creature's death was like an omen. It was almost as if… As if he would befall the same fate if stayed like a caged bird, in the ever present shadow of Britain. A nation in which he loved dearly, but felt as if he could no longer obey his every command. He felt as if the world was crashing down, just like the blue bird.

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><p><em><strong>000<strong>_

Whooo! Finally it's complete! The time skip thingy was pre-America going from a little nobody, to a cluster of colonies that is feeling oppressed and caged. This is like him leading up to The Revolutionary War (the one in which United States wins freedom from Britain and becomes a country… It was basically a little bitch fit between the two.) I didn't put a lot of Russia more towards the end because I don't really know how to tie Russia in with America during the 1600's and have it still be historically correct, and I kinda want to make this more historically correct. Well at least as historically correct as possible, but I'm no history major. Tell me what you think in a review! Because who doesn't like reviews! Don't answer that. ^^ I've said historically correct more times in the last paragraph than I have in my entire life. Like whoa, historically correct. I'll stop now… I hope you enjoyed!

Review and I'll love you forever!

~I feel like I'm forgetting something…~

...Again...


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Hetalia Axis Power, its merchandise, nor any advertisements. I do not claim to own any such things. I do not profit from this in any way shape or form, it is purely for the enjoyment of myself and others. (Dude I was reading this Harry Potter fanfic and the writer accidently put that she was gaining money from the creation of the story. It was hilarious, though she freaked out after someone commented in their review that she did it.)

**WARNING:** This story will contain yaoi, swearing, alcohol, and other forms of violence (But not really). Don't like don't read. Ye Be Warned.

**A/N:** Another installment, I apologize deeply for its lateness, I got major writer's block and was unable to continue until my plot bunnies came back from their vacation. But here it is, I hope you enjoy.

**NOTE:** Russia is going to be OOC in this chapter but that's only cause I want to try out this side of him. So yeah, just wanted to tell you ahead of time.

_**Sneak Peak: **_Some of the many synonyms for inquiring are curious, penetrating, probing, questioning, and inquisitive. (Who'd have thought?)

_**000**_

Storm. One word to describe a catastrophic tangle of the elements. They can be interpreted as omens, a foretelling of the dread to come, to others they are a beautiful performance of mother nature's doing.

To Russia they were annoying. Well, at least at this moment they were annoying. But come on, if you were standing there watching the beautiful, serene sunset and out of the fucking void came torrential waves of rain and dark storm clouds that completely ruined that instant of calm, you'd be pretty upset too. Of course, if you were a nation like newly formed America or not so newly formed Italy (North) it would probably just roll off your shoulders and maybe, if your mood was good enough, you'd stop to appreciate the beauty that the storm was. But in case you hadn't already caught on from the previous chapters and or the actual Hetalia series Russia isn't really the type of nation to stop and smell the rain drops that had just ruined his sunset.

Instead he angrily stomped back inside his colossal mansion*, taking off his tan trench coat and throwing it over the back of a living room chair. The parlor was modernly antique**, a set of large black leather armchairs sat facing an enormous fireplace, each in their respective corners. An easel sat next to the gothic and luxurious hearth, an arrangement of deep set colors and even a few bright ones were in blobs on the palette resting against it. Several pieces of art framed the room; however the sleek ornate wooden coffee table drew in most of the room's focus. A large vase was centered on top of the table, it almost looked like an urn, but the jewels embellished onto its surface were breath taking and attention grabbing. Making the cupboard placed against the wall between the easel and right armchair nearly invisible and positively unnoticeable.

That was the place he went to first, opening the cabinet and taking out a handle of expensive vodka. Popping off the cap and plopping himself down on the closest chair, he brought the bottle to his lips and upturned it. Nearly downing half the entire thing in one huge gulp. The liquid burned like acid as it flowed down Ivan's throat, nearly making him wince.

A sharp knock rang throughout his home. A slight smirk wound its way onto his face, merely exclaiming quietly: "Well wasn't_ that_ fast." He rose to his feet, placing the vodka on the table and slowly making his way towards the front door.

For a few minutes he just stood there, looking at the door, pondering whether it would be worth it or not to simply just ignore the incessant knocking. With a sigh he opened the door. A pair of cold green eyes stared at him. He couldn't help but twitch, those eyes were never intimidating and Russia himself almost never threatened by anything. But it was hard to keep down the anxiety he was feeling. Weird.

"Did you encourage it?"

One of Russia's eyebrows went up.

"Encourage what?"

The blonde haired man with large eyebrows and emerald eyes looked truly enraged, one of the few emotions that Russia hadn't ever seen on the man.

"Don't fuck with me!"

Ivan shifted from foot to foot, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I had known. But I left the decision up to him."

Britain's fist balled up in his rage, finger nails causing blood to drip from them. "Why didn't you tell me!"

"I do believe I just told you that I left it up to him. I didn't think it was really my place to tell you."

Arthur snorted. Shoving past Ivan and into the large manor he walked over to the coffee table and sat down in one of the leather armchairs. Ivan shut the door before following him into the parlor and sitting down in the other unoccupied chair. Arthur merely gave him an odd look and Ivan was back on his feet and retrieving yet another expensive bottle of liquor. This time however he grabbed the whiskey, knowing it was more to Britain's taste than the usual vodka.

He set it down on the table, picked up the other bottle and sat back down. They chugged their respective bottles, both wanting to drown some wayward emotion. For Britain it was his sorrow, he not only lost the close bond he had with America but also Alfred himself. He doomed whatever chance he had at reconciliation when he attempted to squash America's need for freedom and then began war with the unruly child. And to top the cake he lost. Shit.

Ivan was trying to quell his ever present anger. It had nearly fucked him over in the negotiations he had with China about their border. Just the thought of it made another rushing wave of anger attempt to drown him. He let out a deep sigh, and smirked amusedly, though there was no true emotion behind it, the only thing he was addicted to more than vodka was his anger. Before he could suppress it, blue sparkling eyes flashed somewhere in the back of his brain. He began to grumble irritably to himself, disliking how quickly his own mind turned against him and reminded him of the one person he was supposed to have banished from it.

For as long as he'd known the little spit fire all he'd done was create mayhem and cause another wrinkle on Britain's forehead. And regardless of whether it was intended or not he'd cause every one trouble from France to Canada to England.

He glanced over at Arthur who was chugging his whiskey in a manner that seemed rather practiced, but having known Britain back in his commandeering and pirateering days he knew that it very well could be. Behind all the tea and the crumpets and the manners, England was still a pirate through and through. And that meant he wasn't really the best person to become enemies with, and if avoiding that also meant that every now and again, when Britain became frustrated with that dolt of a nation America, he came over to his place and pounded down some whiskey whilst simultaneously whining about said pirate's life, well than he had no room to complain.

Which was basically how the night proceeded, constant griping about a foolish young nation that will surely fall to his own stupidity and lots whiskey. In fact England drank enough to almost finish off what he had in the cabinet, which was quite a large amount of alcohol.

"You know what I think?" Russia turned towards the other, inquiring impatiently.

"What?" Arthur's voice was slurred and in his drunken state of misery Russia almost felt a twinge of empathy, almost being the operative word.

"That we should take you home."

"I don't think so." His words were so heavily slurred that they were hard to comprehend.

Britain attempted to stand up but his knees gave out from underneath him and he crumpled to the floor. Ivan quickly arose and hurried over, grabbing his arms and lifting him effortlessly off the ground and to his feet. He sighed then helped Arthur across the threshold of his home and to the front door.

He noted as he opened said front door that the storm had cleared, in truth almost any signs of the colossal and monumental gale were nowhere to be found. It was as if the tempest had never occurred.

England thrust himself away from Ivan, stumbling across his porch and then down the steps. "I can handle myself!"

"I'm not as think as you drunk I am!"

In retort, Russia gravely nodded his head before solemnly opening his mouth and questioning seriously, "Are you sure you don't need help?"

"I don't need your HELP!" He practically screeched as he faltered farther down Russia's drive way, but he didn't worry for he saw France already waiting with a car for him. Uncanny. Ivan swore France stalked Britain just a tad bit too seriously. He couldn't say that just stalking was bad because he himself was quite often accused of such a thing, and often rightly so. He turned back inside, out of the strangely humid air and into the nicely moderate mansion constantly kept in perfect temperature. Shutting the door behind him he went up to his room, he needed to think. After the war of 1812*** Britain and America had gotten drastically antagonistic to each other even though they both wished to become close again and forget about the whole mess. Not that America would ever think about giving up his freedom and there was no way in hell Arthur would be able to get over his huge pride for them to actually reconcile anytime soon. The phone that rested on his bedside table became to emit shrill notes, Russia grabbed his head and complained aloud to no one in particular, and "Can't I have just a moment of peace and quiet and relaxation?"

But the phone ignored his plead and continued its loud mantra. He leaned over and picked it up, answering gruffly, "What?"

"Russia?" He could have sworn his heart fluttered like a love sick teenage girl at the sound of _his _voice.

"What is it? Are you alright? Is something wrong?" Instantly Ivan began to imagine all of the horrible things that could have gone wrong for America to call him. Panic caused adrenaline to shoot through his nervous system and accelerate his heartbeat.

"No! Nothing's wrong! I… I just wanted to call and say hi…"

"Oh… You did?" Ivan subconsciously began twirling the telephone cord around his fingers.

"Ummm… Yeah. Am I interrupting anything..?" He hesitantly asked into the phone.

"Oh NO! Er- no nothing like that. Actually I'm not doing anything at the moment." He could not believe himself, he sounded like such a _girl_.

"Really?" America sounded so hopeful and sweet it was making Ivan's stomach turn knots. So embarrassing.

"I-I mean that means we can talk for a while right..?" Alfred continued.

"Y-yes!" He hoped he didn't sound too eager when he said that. Shit.

And so the night continued, Russia acting like a love sick little girl and America acting like a blushing virgin… Which he was. (**A/N:** Hehehehehe. O.o)

The clock's hand were ticking far past the wee hours of the night and it was around that time that Ivan finally put down the phone and stopped the 3-4 syllable sentence conversation they had both been indulging in. He sighed as he let the phone slide onto the holder.

He was so fucking pathetic. Did he really just. EERRG! He couldn't believe he just did that, he'd sounded so… So _girly. _

He laid down on his king sized bed, he reached up and pulled the thick golden rope that unleashed the heavy royal blue curtains that surrounded the canopy bed. Now lying in darkness he breathed deeply, wishing for sleep to take him even though he knew it would never come. Not with his heart beating ecstatically, not with those soft pink lips envisioned in his head.

_**000**_

*I know that a lot of people describe Russia's home as being torn down, or decrepit and rather small but I wanted to reflect the actual country Russia. I made it a huge mansion because of the noteable size of Russia, and I made it all faancy cause i thought that it would be cool.

**I love oximorons.

***Figured I should just clarify that the War of 1812, which didn't actually happen in 1812, was basically a dispute between America and England over trade ships. It escalated right around the time that Hati rebeled against Napoleon which forced him to sell the Louisiana Territory for like 15 million (roughly 5 cents per acre) and Britain sent a bunch of troops and were all like, "DIE!" and America was all like, "SHIT!" and then it ended with Britain recalling troops and America... doing something.

I did this whole thing from Russia's point of view and didn't really get anywhere with the plot, but it's a chapter and it was fun to write so I hope it was fun to read!

I think Russia was a bit too OOC in this but I hope I wasn't too far off!

Review, please? I'll love you if you do.


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing. Not Hetalia, not Russia, not Vogue, not Batman, I do not own anything written on this site. Maybe the clothes I have on and this laptop, but not Hetalia.

**WARNING: **Perhaps some swearing, maybe a little bit of violence, perchance a portion of HOMOSEXUALITY! Nah I'm just pulling your chain (never actually used that before, I think I like it). Wait, I'm pulling you chain about pulling your chain, there will be gay lurve in this. And swearing and violence… and… brief nudity. BRIEF!

**A/N:** I can't keep being like, "Well this chapter was three months late too!" and I feel like I owe you all some sort of explanation for dropping off the face of the earth. I have a another story in Assassin's Creed, and some very mean people kept flaming it and sending me PM's to take it off the site and how I was a really bad writer and shouldn't be wasting everyone's time by posting my work and they happened to time it perfectly with some really bad personal problems that had been going on in my life. Embarrassing as it is, I let them get to me and put that story on hiatus and couldn't find motivation to continue with any of my other stories. Thankfully I got a lot of support from many people on FF and decided that I needed to get off my ass and start writing. In short this chapter is dedicated to the many people who made me realize I was being a wuss. I really needed it, so thank you. I love you!

**NOTE: **To clarify a few things, every chapter a few years pass, because the way I see it if you've lived for centuries upon centuries of years, as many of the nations in Hetalia have, a couple of months or a year or two must pass fairly quickly so I've decided to start putting years at the beginning of my chapters. And secondly, I mentioned the War of 1812 but I don't think I ever actually told you guys what that was, and I'm sure that those of you who don't live in the UK or the US don't know what it is. I wouldn't. But basically after America's revolutionary war ended and they gained their freedom England began to destroy the US's trade ships and sent ships complete with a few thousand men to attack the US. America won, but just barely. Some historians even believe that the War of 1812 was the true revolutionary war because if the US hadn't won it, it would be very likely that the US would still be under British rule. And ironically, the War of 1812 actually occurred from 1807 to (if memory serves) 1813. Go figure.

**RANDOM FACT: **I am awful, dreadful, near pathetic at writing lemons and often have to consult my friend Socks when I write them, and occasionally I even flat out give up and ask her to write them for me.

_**Sneak Peak: **_Just some of the countless synonyms of discover are discern, ascertain, encounter, stumble upon, conclude, and influence.

_**000**_

_**1902**_

America sat cross-legged on the floor, twiddling his thumbs together and humming random tunes to himself. Spain and France sat glaring at each other, and _man, _if looks could kill. The silence that had settled over the three was strangely calm and comfortable, despite the less than amiable mood the two shared. America was still pretty happy, after all _he_ still had his clothes on.

The three sat in a circle, a stack of cards piled in the center. Strip Poker. Or at least a modified version, it resembled Rummy closely due to the fact that France had no idea how to play Poker. Each player had seven cards, America still had all of his clothes on except his leather bomber jacket, which had been forfeit after a particularly bad move on his part. The other two however, were not quite so lucky with the cards they had been dealt.

France was down to just his skin tight pants and underwear, all other clothes had been removed bad play after bad play. He didn't even have his socks or shoes. And surprisingly enough, while still thin, he had lightly packed abbs and traceable muscles. Who would've thought that France had muscles? Not him.

Spain had lost his shirt but apart from that was still clothed. While France had muscle, Spain had _muscle_. Like he couldn't even believe that was possible on a guy that lean, but he did. Large biceps and pectorals, hard abbs and a relative look that made him just a tad bit scarier. You really don't notice how hot a guy is until they aren't wearing their clothes.

The way France was glaring at Spain and vice versa though, he doubted either of them would have any clothes by the end of the game. And if someone did it would be Spain at this rate, he glanced at France's two last items and then at Spain who still had his pants, his belt, socks, and tan work boots.

Forty minutes later and with a seething France, Spain won. Which upset America in turn. He hadn't expected Spain to get him out of the majority of his clothes as well as leaving France completely nude. And America hated losing. So there they sat France curled up with his chin to his knees and a set glare, and America shirtless, beltless, flip flop-less. Thank god that they ran out of cards before he lost his pants.

What really made it suckish was that they couldn't get Spain to lose any of his remaining clothes, it was like he became suddenly untouchable. Spain smirked deviously," What?"

France turned his head and pouted, refusing to meet Spain's gaze.

" Man, not cool." Alfred glared daggers directly into Spain's soul, hoping that maybe if he stayed put long enough that some residual effect would cripple Spain for life. It didn't work.

Spain threw his head back and laughed. "Well, should we call it a night then? Or are you two willing to up the stakes?"

He dragged his gaze down Frances naked form, practically fucking him with his eyes. America hadn't seen Spain do that to anyone before; he didn't even think that it was possible for Spain to do that. And while America hadn't ever seen Spain do that before, there were two nations that had and in fact were very familiar with receiving it. They just didn't flaunt their polygamist relationship*.

America while he certainly wasn't completely inexperienced in the ways of sex, hadn't actually gone all the way. As in he was still a virgin, on both ends. Which was why he resolved to get the fuck out now, while he still could.

"Well, while that sounds wonderful, I have to go. I think I left my grandmother on fire." America got up grabbed his clothes and got out of there as fast as he could. Only once he was out of Spain's house and trekking across his lawn did he feel guilty for leaving France alone to be eaten by the big bad wolf. But then again France was a big boy and certainly knew how to… sate the appetite of such a predator… and sometimes the seemingly hunted very quickly become the hunters. But that was something America was blissfully unaware of.

He rushed into his car, shoving the keys into the ignition and blindly tossing his clothes into the passenger's seat. He pulled out of Spain's driveway and got the fuck off the premises.

He drove aimlessly at first, rather embarrassed at how that turned out. He trusted both of them a lot, but… They were his friends, it seemed weird doing something like that with them. It would be like having sex with Britain, he blanched at the thought… Wait! Did Arthur get laid? And if he did… do that stuff, with who? He didn't know anyone who was close to him, _like that_. He knew Britain was sometimes hanging out with France and they talked a lot but if France was with Spain… He shook his head to clear his thoughts, everything was way too complicated.

He had wet dreams before and masturbated of course, but he hadn't done stuff like that with anyone else before. The only person he could think of doing that with… He blushed at the thought. The only person he had ever thought about while doing stuff like that had been Russia. He didn't even notice he was doing it until he came. He blushed deeper, shook his head again and thought of nothing but the road in front of him.

Maybe he should go visit Matt, they hadn't talked in a while. Anything to clear his thoughts, anything to make him stop thinking of _him._ Alfred couldn't stop that man from worming his way into his thoughts and occupying his time, it's not like Ivan would ever like him like that. I mean for fuck's sake the poor man had to babysit him when he was younger, something he always found odd. He never understood why England did things, but that in particular had always seemed weird. He could have been watched by anyone, why did Britain always take him to Ivan's?

More confusing things. He turned, on to what road, he didn't know. He glanced around, trying to figure out where he was. With startling realization he recognized that he was only four miles away from the airport, and a few hours away from Matt. Canada always had a calming effect on you, even if you were troubled and confused. All you had to do was sit by him and talk and it was like everything got so much better, so much faster. He nodded his head. To Canada.

_**000**_

Okay this was short, but I did this on purpose because I need your opinions. Like seriously the fate of this story balances upon your oblong shaped head, which I'm sure is beautiful.

I can't decide if I want to put sub pairings in here or not. Like a game of thrones, 20 main stories and 50 sub stories except completely not to that extreme. More like RussiaXAmerica and then a little bit about SpainXBritain and another pairing which I haven't decided on yet. Like Junjou Romantica, where you had the two main characters and then you have the two other pairings that still intertwine with the story. I'm not going to be like, " GraAAHHGG YOU HAVE TO REVIEW THIS OR I WILL TURN inTO !" No. Just say no.

But I don't want to make a decision that leaves some of you unsatisfied. I can keep it how I've been writing it so far or I could add the other two. And if you guys like the idea of adding changing it, you need to give me a second pairing. I love you!~

I don't know what to do! I wrote this and now I'm looking back on it knowing I should write more but I have zero drive to do so… Instead, I will just upload the next chapter really fast.


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